When It Counts

In case I’m the only one keeping track, there are 358 days left before I turn 55 and disappear into mobile home park void of senior citizenry.

There are also only 50 days of technical summer left, which bothers me much more. Even my longstanding love of autumn doesn’t soothe me. There’s just something about summer. I expect good things, always.

Good things did happen last week, though, with a break from my pursuit of an income, a spectacular birthday (it was, too), and some quantity time with the missus. What began as a theoretical anniversary weekend away from all this transformed, pretty much at the last minute, into a staycation. The complications of leaving my son alone at home are actually minor (he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself), mostly having to do with his loneliness and anxiety, but really? When we looked at the price point, it seemed reasonable to maybe postpone an expensive hotel somewhere and focus our checkbooks, if that happened, on some more substantial things. And at least buy local, a bonus.

We didn’t break the bank, either. I’m not going to oversell our adventure at the thrift store, but aside from my back (not so good today, right on time) we spent less than $100 and the feng shui meter shot through the roof (we could also spend money on the roof, no sweat). Just a corner of the house, transformed into a warm place to sit, catch some gymnastics, hang out together. Gotta love that.

Mostly, though, we took advantage of everything, of summer, of a few days off together to wander around, catch a movie, have a meal, wallow a little in the years. They seem substantial, all those calendar pages flipping since 1983, and while both of us are clear-eyed, and know that there were not-so-great years among them, it’s not hard to find the romance even in the trivial. Even in buying used furniture. No kidding.

I wrote about the subject this week, from a movie marriage to a real one, to a long jump and back to us. We are in our 30th year now, together, and I expect good things. And I’m not the only one counting.